


Sherlock

by Danagirl623



Series: Scarworship [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Scar Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 02:50:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15379071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danagirl623/pseuds/Danagirl623
Summary: Sherlock is throwing a fit, and asks John for comfort.Only written because I needed some scar worship for Johnlock!Thank you Aryagraceling!





	Sherlock

Sherlock came out of the bathroom, slightly damp and wearing just a towel. He walked over behind John and nosed at the back of his ear as he wrapped his arms around his boyfriend’s waist.

  
“John,” he whined. “Come touch me.”

  
John laughed more to himself than to Sherlock. “Go lay down, my love.”

  
Sherlock kissed his boyfriend’s neck and walked back into his bedroom. John padded after his boyfriend. John watched as this gorgeous brunette man threw himself down on the bed and pull John’s Union Jack pillow under his cheek.

John leaned down to kiss his unruly curls, and pet them gently before he braced himself on the wall next to the bed and climbed on top of Sherlock’s lower body. He laid his chest on Sherlock’s back. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock chest and tangled his feet into his boyfriend’s.

  
“What’s going on in that head of yours my pretty lad?”

  
“I’m hideous,” Sherlock complained, lacing his fingers through John’s.

  
“Oh no,” John exclaimed. “That won’t do at all. Why do you think this clever boy?”

  
“I’m supposed to be young and whole. Look at my back. It’s old and scarred.”

  
“I love your back. It’s so strong and defined. The muscular-”

“The skin on my back-” Sherlock turned his head towards the wall. “Is so ugly and-lumpy.”

“Oh my poor, vain lad,” John whispered just in his ear. He kissed just below Sherlock's earlobe. “Why don’t you sit up and let me tell you about your back?”

  
“Shan’t.”

“Are we having a proper sulk, then, Sherl? Shall I leave you to it?”

“No,” he moaned as his fingers entwined with John’s.

“Come on, love. Sit up.”

John wiggled off his boyfriend, and sat with his back against the wall. He pushed Sherlock encouragingly to sit up. Sherlock complied, but complained the whole way. “Yes, I know my clever lad. It’s an injustice that your boyfriend loves you so much to make you sit up.”

“Terrible boyfriend.” Sherlock agreed. John sat with his legs splayed open on either side of Sherlock. He leaned forward on his elbows resting on his thighs and placed his cheek against his right upturned palm.

John’s eyes roved over Sherlock’s back. It was mottled and covered with scars. John’s eyes landed on a 15 cm pink, thin cord of scar tissue with corresponding suture lines on Sherlock’s posterior right arm.  He drew his finger along the scar.

“I like this one best because it’s from dumpster diving when we first met. You sliced your arm getting that damn pink case.”

“I found the case, John.” Sherlock said, barely understandable around the pillow. John had stopped fighting Sherlock from turning it into his comfort item. “I solved the puzzle.”

John leaned down and kissed along the scar line. He pulled his lips back and kissed each suture mark. “It showed me how determined you are. It showed me there is still so much goodness in the world. In you! It made me glad I had made it to that day.”

John’s eyes roved over Sherlock’s back again. He pressed his fingertip into the cigarette burn scar. “This scar infuriates me. Who would mar your beautiful skin to get you to talk? Didn’t they know you’re a stubborn bastard who doesn’t talk when he’s decided not to?”

Sherlock leaned into his boyfriend’s touch. “They didn’t speak english, John.”  

John leaned over and kissed gently at the puckered mark. He kissed it again, then, moved just to the left. There was a large, pink, bunched up scar that started at the left axilla and went all the way across to the right axilla.  It was jagged, like it had healed poorly. John’s tongue licked across it. He nibbled at the thicker part in the middle.

“This one makes me so proud of the man you’ve become. You disappeared for two years, and refused to speak about what happened. This scar is the first one I saw when you came home. You were in the shower, and I accidentally walked in on you. It stuck out because of its length, and I wanted _so badly_ to know about it. I tried to ask you, but you wouldn't talk. Until-”

“We were in the sex shop, and you were playing with a less deadly version.”

“It looks like barbed wire.”

“I think it might have been,” Sherlock confirmed. He placed his free hand back to rub part ot it.

John snatched his wrist and kissed it. “These scars are fucked up, but I’m so glad you figured it out. I know you didn’t know who or what was coming, but you fought for yourself. That’s so important to me. Thank you for fighting through it.”

John pulled his boyfriend’s wrist back to his mouth and he scraped his teeth along it. “I know this was from when you quit coke, but if I ever find a new one, I’ll leave you in a heartbeat without a second chance. Understood?”

Sherlock shivered, and nodded. “Yes, John.”

John let go of Sherlock’s wrist, and turned his attention to the multiple 7-10 mm white scars on his mid back. He placed his nose against them and rubbed the thickened tissue. “Again, those Serbians were fucking idiots. Using a heated fork to try and get-”

“He didn’t want me to talk,” Sherlock interrupted. “He was playing games with my head.”

“He was trying to break you down,” John agreed, licking over the flesh, then blowing on it. Sherlock shivered, again.

“John,” he whined.

“Oh, hush you. One more good scar,” John chided, then used his hands to feel the scar he meant, brushing his fingertips over it. It was on his abdomen from when he had to have an emergency appendectomy 6 months ago. “This scar scared me beyond belief. If I had lost you, Sherlock, I don’t know what I would have done.”

“I was fine. I still had hours before it burst-”

“Maybe.” John conceded. “But to have to get prepped and perform surgery on the man I love knowing he could die at any moment-”

“John. I was completely in control of the situation. I just wanted to get the guy-”

John poked the scar, and said, “Some days I hate you.”

“John Hamish,” Sherlock said, leaning back against the shorter blonde man. He tilted his head to rest on his lover’s shoulder. “You don’t hate me.”

“Are you less sulky now?”

“Almost.”

John sighed. He kissed Sherlock’s cheek, then took a hand, and petted his curls. “What a handsome boy you are!” Sherlock lit up under the praise, even though it was given sarcastically.

“Me?” Sherlock asked, with a sly grin. “Thank you John. I think you’re awful-”

“Just be quiet, you manipulative brat.” John said, pressing his cheek against Sherlock’s.

“Thank you, love.” Sherlock said, quietly.

“Anything for you, darling.”


End file.
